Why do I have to show off, again? Well, because I did a great job by writing a “comment”, now post on its own, to myself here.

If it wouldn’t be Castor Girl replying about the “proudness of grandiose survivorship”, I would probably have not written it.

So thanks again, CG.

Below I am going to copy-paste the part where I wrote to my “inner child”, for the rest of my alters to see, as well.

…my parents were never able to see me as important enough in comparison to their early-life experiences (being born in the war-time in the middle of WW II in the little European country occupied by two neighbor countries’ armies (all neighbouring countries were Hitler’s allies, except our country, can you imagine – it was like being a prey divided and dissociated at the collective level))

NothingI have ever been (or done) as a child of two people that were both born in the war time – could (can) come even close to the importance of war and their house being burnt down by Fascists and their village occupied by Hungarian pro-Nazi soldiers, respectively in my mother’s and father’s case. (My country was divided – dissociated at a collective level – by pro-Nazi Hungary, Fascist Italy, and Nazi Germany at the time).

I, as a child, just a little child, just could not compete with the two armies of soldiers, always present in my parents’ eyes, those invisible armies that I just couldn’t fight against (not even in case I’d have my own army and courage to do it) because those were just my parents’ unhealed memories lurking from the past…

A question to myself:

How could any child (later an adolescent) beat two armies (Hitler’s allies) in the parents’ eyes and step out of the shadow of those experiences?

No child could do that

I must tell the answer to my inner child now.

Because I find had happened to find my inner child (with my inner adolescent they are a team) too many times still “fighting my their war” against my parents’ internalized aggressors lurking from their eyes (btw they were both teachers, probably that’s why I particularly tend to fight against my teachers) and competing with teachers/therapist/etc all the time as if in hope (poor little child, still hoping) that one day I will win if I (the child) am big, bigger, grandiose enough

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As I said above, this is a part of a text originally written as my reply to CastorGirl’s reply… that you can read here as whole and in the context.